Amen?
by KeepingAmused
Summary: Religious singsong calls for new ways of addressing 'the big guy' and contemplations of the Golden Gates. Much and Djaq and Will.
1. Chapter 1

Amen

"Oh, Allah above, as Djaq would say -

please smile upon these stinking men.

And spare me a blessing as I darn these socks

Much - the cook, the mother hen.

.

Please let pheasants rain down on my kitchen,

Or if that's a wish stretched too far -

When we're lost, let the North Road find us,

Through the glow of your Christ's star.

.

We're hungry, my Lord, churning and tired

And my eyes see nothing but dust,

Please lift the corner's of my Master's lips,

I'll sing and dance if I must!

.

The fire could burn for eternity and more,

That is – if you're willing to spare us,

Will's spirits need lifting; his cold hands need gifting,

We'll even fast a day if you dare us.

.

This sword has touched a Turk's heart,

And a Turk – like my sister – has a soul,

But please forgive me my sins and relieve Robin's 'mares,

For his dreams have taken their toll.

.

So, Allah above, as Djaq would say -

please smile upon these stinking men.

And spare me a blessing as I darn these socks

Much – I pray, again."

.

"That's an interesting hymn, Much," the Saracen's dark eyes crinkle with amusement yet, beneath the stifled laughter, there is tender warmth.

"Let's make a new name," the outlaw taps his wooden spoon thoughtfully, "so that we can both be happy. Allah and God combined, shall we say?"

"I am content with our separate religions," comes the response.

"Let us create a _Lallah_ or Allog!" Much cries.

"Or Allah-God," Djaq suggests, "or perhaps Gallah?"

"Lord and Allah – _Lallah_," the chef insists.

"Allord?"

"Yes," Much decides with a radiant grin, "Allord. We shall praise Allord. _Oh, Allord above..._"


	2. Chapter 2

With even the dirt sparkling from England's bitter frost, the strewn leaves were jeweled with frost and bunching protectively in dewy heaps in between the cold tree roots. These occasions were often unfortunate – due to the chilly temperatures, which required extra moleskins and cloth to wrap the outlaws' hands with – yet, somehow, the world became enticing and all the more pleasing to eye of a young chef.

"Oh, will the Heavens be as pretty as this sight?

When the sword slides into the hero's chest

Will it glitter with frost in the starry night?

Or will be warm – the warmest is best

.

Expectations are high, I bow,

But I do hope there's a feast!

There's nothing better than a pheasant

Or a few parsnips, at least"

"Much, I hope our Allord does not hear you tempting the future of our souls."

There was a tense silence as the huddle of men, latching onto the witty yet meaningful conversation being exchanged between their shortest gang-members, glanced between the shivering bodies. The youngest one felt a small tinge of pain in his heart – as if the cold shrouding his leather cloak had managed to pierce his heart – just slightly. He spoke up, "where are you going to go?"

A reassuring dark gaze met fearful green orbs. "Do you mean, after our rounds in Nettlestone?"

Will shook his head feverishly. "I mean," he swallowed, feeling slightly rude, "do Muslims go to a Heaven?"

The lashes fluttering softly across the Saracen's cheeks, implying that she had probably been thinking along the same lines. Death was lurking behind every corner and she had no pleasure in dreaming of a future without her surrogate family. "You might wonder if my Heaven is the same as yours."

"_Allord_ will see to it," came a confident reply. "He'll make arrangements, you know. Nothing in Heaven or Earth can separate this gang. There'll be plenty of food for all of us, together."

"Much's right. We'll make sure," Will smiled wittily, still delirious from the cold, "that you have your bunk, right beside mine. Near the fire, yeah."

"Yes," Djaq whispered, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

"And you can meet my Dad," the carpenter continued dazedly, "you never met him, properly, did you? And you never met -"

"You never met mine," Djaq interjected. If she were more of a woman, the moisture in her eyes would roll helplessly down her cheeks. If she were more of a man, she would blink away the tears and thrust back her shoulders. However, man or woman – Christian or Muslim – she was touched by their words and was satisfied with the balanced shimmer of emotion simply welling in her vision.

"But count on it, Djaq," Much smiled, "you'll always be with us."


End file.
